When the subject of Middlesbrough's game came up on the show that lunchtime, I really didn't know how far this rant was going to go, but I was determined to go through with it. Looking back, I know I was pretty fired up. I began with the words, ‘This is not a rant’, which is always a sign that somebody is about to go on a rant, and I claimed that Location, Location, Location's poll was upside down. Suddenly all this pent-up rage was released as the list began to tumble from my mouth. The reaction from the boys was great. They were on their feet, egging me on. The more they urged me on, the more I kept going. Then the ad break came, and in the sort of televisual theatre that has made Derren Brown very famous, we created the illusion that I'd been ranting throughout the break by picking up just where I left off. I couldn't help myself.
The reaction afterwards was sensational. Days later, the local council called the office and the local tourist board were in touch to thank me. There were calls from magazines and newspapers; interview requests from local radio stations and Tyne Tees television. During my diatribe, I added that Brian Clough had been born in Middlesbrough and added the date of his birth. A Middlesbrough councillor told me that 10 commemorative busts had been made of Brian Clough. Nine of them had been sold and auctioned for charity, but there was one left, a real collector's item and a lovely piece, and they wanted to present it to me as a thankyou present. It was amazing.
I think a lot of what I said was true and some of it was said to make a point and have a bit of fun, but it worked out better than I could have imagined. On Valentine's Day I even got flowers from the Middlesbrough Tourist Board. The card inside read, ‘To Jeff, Happy Valentine's Day, Middlesbrough loves you.’ I doubt if the producers of Location, Location, Location will ever receive one of those.
5 The Jeff Stelling Drinking Game
There are many ways to watch Soccer Saturday on an afternoon: at home on the sofa with friends and family; in the local pub nursing a pint and a packet of pork scratchings; or alone in a dark room, curtains drawn, stark naked, save for a pair of Macclesfield Town underpants (beware: these people are to be avoided in public at all costs). Then, of course, there is the alcoholically-charged ‘experience’ enjoyed by the hardier elements of our watching audience. A marathon, Soccer Saturday-related boozing session called The Jeff Stelling Drinking Game that takes place during the 90 minutes of televised commentary and involves a series of convoluted rules, regulations and drinking rituals that nobody really understands. Think of it as being a bit like the offside rule, but a lot more fun for everyone involved.
First invented by a group of students from Sheffield Hallam University a couple of years ago, the game has since taken on a life of its own. A number of variations have recently been posted online in social networking forums such as Facebook. There's even a simmering rivalry between some of the game's organizers. The Jeff Stelling Fanclub, for example, recently posted a damning criticism of the Drinking Game's inventors, referring to them as ‘a lightweight bunch of girls who, if they ever bothered to take part, would probably be hospitalized’. It's all pretty scary stuff.
When trawling the internet, however, this behaviour is really just the tip of the iceberg. The aforementioned Jeff Stelling Fanclub (www.jeffstellingfanclub.com), to whom I'm eternally grateful for their support (please don't come to my house), hold an AGM in my honour every year. God knows what the minutes must involve, but a group of grown adults who should know better have held meetings in places such as Lancaster where, according to their slightly unnerving blog, members ‘went to the Walkabout bar to watch the [FA Cup Final] and they had terraces and chicken in a basket. The clumsiest man in the world threw beer over everyone, Chelsea won the cup in extra time and afterwards everyone said the game was really boring but we really enjoyed it! In the evening we danced to 80s music and went to a gay bar. A very confused-looking man pulled Barrow-in-Furness out of the hat for next year's AGM.’
But that's not all. Follow the relevant links from the website of the JSFC (as I like to call them) and you'll discover that a poet named P. Maguire has even posted a rambling whimsy in tribute to the show. According to experts it is ‘a bit crap’, but make up your own mind:
‘The Name's Stelling, Jeff Stelling!’
Jeff Stelling, Jeff Stelling
Is really compelling, Like James Bond, As slick and as smooth. Kamara has passion, McQueen now in fashion, And Thommo is biased, it's true!
Jeff Stelling, Jeff Stelling,
His name I love spelling, Like James Bond, As smart and as cool. Charlie Nicholas is charming, Le Tiss is disarming, But Cottee is not quite as cute!
Jeff Stelling, Jeff Stelling,
This love never quelling. Like yours for your Dear Hartlepool. The goals you announce As like leopards we pounce, 'Cos you never say where or for who!
Elsewhere, another internet site called www.dangerhere.com – how very apt – has devised a series of spoofed James Bond movie posters, with the finely-chiselled mugs of Roger Moore, Sean Connery, Pierce Brosnan, Timothy Dalton and Daniel Craig replaced by mine. They've even devised movie plots for each imaginary flick:
Dyer Another Day: On his own initiative, 007 (Stelling, Jeff Stelling) makes the long trip from Hartlepool to Newcastle to have a word with wayward Mag Kieron Dyer, whose camcorder constantly gets him into hot water. To spare the blushes of Dyer's latest dolly bird, 007 finds himself regretfully having to use lethal force against said electronic device. Thankfully, his handsome Sky salary means he can comfortably afford to pay the bill subsequently forwarded to him by Dyer's solicitor.
[Note to readers: after this top secret mission, Kieron Dyer was ‘relocated’ to West Ham. Maybe something to do with the Witness Protection Plan, who knows?]
For Your Eyes Rodney: After plans for a new digital football highlights service are lost at a motorway service station, BSkyB begin a feverish search for them. As Bond (Stelling, Jeff Stelling) joins the search, he suspects Rodney Marsh of involvement in the affair. Bond finds an ally in the beautiful Kirsty Gallagher, a 12-foot-tall ex-supermodel-turned-secret agent, who blames Marsh for the troubled history of the Tampa Bay Rowdies. The plot thickens when Marsh takes a shine to Bond's bird, leading to Bond's abandonment of his original mission in favour of a bid to assassinate Marsh at the earliest opportunity.
In Her Majesty's Secret Service Station: Sky Sports Boss ‘M’ (Rupert Murdoch) assigns 007 (Stelling, Jeff Stelling) with the task of formulating a plan to foil the ambitions of BBC One's Football Latest programme, hated rival of Gillette Soccer Saturday. 007 repairs to his habitual haunt, Winchester Services on the M3, and enjoys his favourite, a pint of extrastrong coffee and a scone with butter.
Like I say, the internet is a scary place. But, if you ever feel bored one Saturday afternoon, if you're desperately single, or if you want to know what it must have been like to have been a footballer from the 1970s, why not play the official Soccer Saturday Drinking Game? If you're brave enough, the rules are as follows:
Necessary equipment:
Lager
A bottle of Jägermeister
A bottle of whisky
Red Bull
A sick bag
Current Rules:
1 Every time a goal is scored: one shot of beer must be drunk.
2 Every sending-off: one shot of Jägermeister (or substitute) must be downed.
3 Half-time: absolutely no alcoholic beverages may be imbibed during this period.
4 Whenever Chris Kamara is talking: you must be drinking continually.
5 Whenever Paul Merson uses stupid rhyming slang (i.e. ‘He's hit the beans on toast!’): one shot of Jägermeister must